CHAPTER 19

I'm not low. Not manic. Not in-between.

My new meds make me just . . . nothing. Everything is dull.

I"m lethargic. Like my brain went to sleep, and I have to wake it up every time I need to do something. Like, brushing my teeth. I can do it. I just need to remind myself that I can.

This is my life.

This is why I can't keep friends. Terri has left a dozen voicemails and a string of texts, begging me to respond, and assuring me a dozen times that I'm not a burden and never have been. I don't believe her. She must be lying. Who can put up with someone like me forever? I couldn't even muster a thank you text to Shawn when he said he would take care of this week's cleaning supplies order at the gallery. I'm sure he thinks I'm the biggest liability to humanity.

It's like my mother always seems to say without actually saying the words – eventually, I become ‘too much'. Eventually, it's ‘okay, you have a mental disorder, we get it'. People usually want to move past it and get back to normal as soon as possible.

Yes. This is my life. An unending obsession with the right combination of medication, psychiatrist appointments, therapist's appointments, and the pervasive waiting for things to go to shit. This is the sum total of my life. Repetitive. Boring. Eyerolls behind my back, and ‘get over it'.

But . . . Hayden.

Hayden acts like there's nothing wrong with me. I told him about my mental disorder to give him a way out. So he can find a normal artist to work with. But he acts like I told him I had the flu. His non-reaction is reassuring but also confusing.

It's almost the end of April. I heard from Daniel who heard from Hayden's assistant that Hayden is away on business. She would like to know when Hayden can expect the next meeting with me.

To be honest, it's all unnecessarily coordinated. I get that he's a busy man, but we really don't need to be scheduling meetings. I don't get why I can't just paint for him, leave the work at the gallery, and he can pick them up at his convenience.

Daniel doesn't question any of it. I don't question it either, and I think Hayden is allowing (or possibly causing) this unnecessary complication because he wants to see me as much as I want to see him. I'm not completely brainless. I can feel the undercurrents too.

So, I go through the motions of work and home, dodging calls and texts from my mother and sometimes answering David's check-up texts with diplomatic responses. He may have said something about visiting New York for work meetings over the next few months and can we get together for a beer. I can't remember. It was only after five days that I noticed his text about Mary being pregnant and that their baby is due late October. I felt like shit, and I'm sure my own brother hates me for not even congratulating him. I'm sure he'd have been better off without me as a brother. He hates me. I know he does.

Dr. Emily is monitoring me carefully, and I'm seeing Laura once a week now. And Terri begged me to attend a group meeting at the library.

I'm numb, like I'm on a permanent local anesthetic. Autopilot that makes you want to rip your skin right off your flesh. I finally decide to go to the group meeting.

Terri pulls me in for a hug that lasts about ten years when I arrive at the library. "How are you doing, bestie?" she asks.

I shrug. "Okay, I guess."

"New meds?"

I nod.

She gives me another side hug and pulls me into our meeting room.

There's nothing formal about these meetings. There's never an agenda, and you are never pressured to participate. Plenty of people come in just to listen to others talk about their struggles because it makes them feel less alone. Others come to get things off their chest or share their struggles so they can feel heard or understood.

I'm greeted by several regular participants, and I immediately feel at home. "Did Sasha come?" I ask Terri.

"Yeah. She's in the front on the blue couch. Go let her know you're here."

I make my way to the front, looking for a waif of a girl with long blonde hair. What I find curled up on the blue couch is a redhead sporting a buzz cut.

"Sasha?"

She turns. Jesus Christ. She's lost even more weight. Her cheeks are hollowed, and her skin is pale. The tattoos on her neck stand out prominently. Her eyeballs shift left to right, left to right, left to right. The sleeves of her cardigan are pulled up, and I can see surface scratches all the way from her wrist to her elbow.

"I like your hair," I tell her, doing my best to bring some cheer into my voice.

"You're low," she says.

I manage a grin. We sure know how to spot each other, us bipolar people. I drop into the couch next to her. "Yeah. You?"

"Mixed, Levi. I can't shake it."

"Meds?"

"No money, dude. Can't afford the co-payments."

"Shit, Sasha."

"I want to fucking rip my skin off. I can't deal, Levi. I'm so fucked up."

"Yo, Sasha. Phone call," Derek calls from across the room. Derek got put away for auto theft and burglary when he was twenty-one. He got twenty-two years and has been out for ten months now.

Sasha's eyes fill with tears. She sniffs them away and places her hand on mine. "It's Kailee's birthday today," she says, unable to hold her tears back.

"Sasha, honey," I soothe. "Come on, let's go say happy birthday to your baby girl."

She shakes her head aggressively. "I can't. I can't, Levi."

Even in my state, my heart breaks for Sasha. "Okay. Why don't we go together? I'll be right there when you take the call."

"You think so?" she sniffs, her hand clutching mine.

"Of course." I stand, pulling her with me. Together, we walk across the room where Terri keeps a group cellphone for these types of situations – when loved ones can't get in contact with a member.

Derek pats me on the shoulder and gives Sasha a kiss on the top of her head. "Good to see you, Levi. You good, Sasha?"

We both nod.

Sasha stares at the phone like she's found a viper lying on the table. "I can't," she whispers.

I pick up the phone, mute it, and hold it out for her. "Try, Sash. For Kailee."

She shakes her head, swiping at the tears wetting her cheeks. "I can't, Levi." She buries her face in her hands. "I can't. I can't. I can't," she wails.

I back off. She'll spiral even further if I push. "Okay, why don't I talk to Kailee? You can just tell me what to say. How's that?"

"You'd do that? You must hate me so much, Levi."

"Yes, I'd do that. And no, I don't hate you, Sash. You're a good person."

"I abandoned my own child, Levi. Walked out on my family. I'm the worst kind of person."

I put my arms around her. She's so small, she fits right into my chest. "You're a good person. Now, I'll take the call. You just tell me what to say."

Her head moves against my chest. Yes.

I move us to the corner of the room for some privacy, unmute the phone, and put it on loudspeaker. Sasha holds onto the sleeve of my hoodie for dear life. I pull her into my chest again.

"Hello?" I greet the person on the other side.

"Hello?" A woman's distraught voice pierces my eardrums. Not because she's speaking loudly but because any kind of sound is beginning to feel like screams in my ear.

"Hi. This is Levi. Sasha's friend," I say. "She's not able to speak right now, but she's asked me to pass on a message. Is this her mom?"

"Y –yes, this is her mom. Dalphine. My name is Dalphine. Is – is Sasha okay?"

Sasha nods against my chest.

"Yes. She's okay, ma'am."

"We would love to hear her voice. I have us on speaker. Her daughter, Kailee, is with me. We – we were hoping to talk to her."

Even if Sasha changed her mind, she wouldn't have been able to talk anyway. She's overcome by her tears. Somehow, she manages to whisper into my chest, "Happy birthday, Kailee."

"Sasha? Sasha, honey? Is that you?" Dalphine's broken voice is filled with hope and hopelessness at the same time. "Kailee? Kailee, I think that was Mommy."

I swallow hard. Mental disorders are the greatest pain to be experienced by humankind. "Uh, ma'am? Sasha is struggling to talk, but she says happy birthday to Kailee. And – and she misses you all very much."

Sasha nods against my chest.

"And she wishes – she wishes she could come home."

Sasha nods again.

"She can, dear. She can come home. We miss her so much, and we wait every day for her to come home. We know she didn't mean all those things she said when she left. We know she'd never have left if she was stable. We know she loves Kailee. And she's a good mom when she's okay. Please. Please, dear. We just want to hear her voice."

Sasha shakes her head, crying harder into my chest.

"Uh, well. Ma'am, I—" I don't know what to say. "Uh, well. Sasha asked me to uh, sing? Uh, to sing happy birthday to Kailee."

I don't know what I'm doing, and Sasha's quiet sobs have become uncontrollable. "Is – is that okay? Can I sing on Sasha's behalf?"

Sasha's mom sniffs on the other end. "Kailee, honey? Mommy can't talk right now but her friend that's on the phone now? That's Levi. That's Mommy's friend, and she told Levi to sing you happy birthday. Is that okay, sweetheart?"

"Yayyyy," comes Kailee's sweet voice.

I tighten my arm around Sasha, whose heartbreak is immeasurable. Then, I sing in the happy birthday tune.

Mommy says happy birthday.

Mommy says happy birthday.

Mommy says happy birthday, dear Kailee.

Happy birthday to you.

Mommy loves you so much

Mommy loves you so much

Mommy loves you so much,

Happy birthday, Kailee.

Sasha's mom is crying too. "Sasha? Sasha, honey? If you can hear me. We love you. Dad and I love you so much. Kailee loves you so much, and we miss you. We want you to come home. We wait every day for you to walk through the front door. We'll always wait for you. And we'll help you. We'll help you, honey. Kailee is okay. She's happy, and she eats all her vegetables. Dad taught her to ride her bike last week. She's such a good girl. Aren"t you a good girl, sweetheart?"

"I'm a good girl, Mommy. I'm a good girl."

Sasha pushes away from me and flees across the room. Terri catches my eye, questions filling her face. I raise my hand in Sasha's direction, indicating go to her, then I return to the conversation.

"Hi, Kailee. I know you're a good girl. Your mommy is a good girl too. She's just not been feeling too good recently."

Kailee giggles on the other side. "I gotta take herrr to the doctorrrr."

"Yeah. That's a great idea. You're such a clever girl. Is Grandma still there?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm still here. Is Sasha there?"

"No, ma'am she's not."

"Is she really okay, Levi? Please, just tell me the truth."

"She's struggling ma'am. She's out of meds. The support group is raising some money to help her."

"Is she still manic?"

"She's in a mixed episode."

"Oh, no. I wish we had the money to help her get her meds, but things are so hard, Levi. We are not people of means."

"I know. The group is looking out for her. We hope she can get stable and come home."

"When she left, she said we're all better off without her, but that's not true. We love her so much, but we don"t know what to do anymore."

"I know, ma'am." I don't know what else to say. "I'm sorry," is all I can come up with.

"Thank you, Levi. Thank you for taking our call."

"It's my pleasure. I hope Kailee has a good birthday. Have a piece of cake for Sasha."

"We will. Thank you. Say goodbye, Kailee. Say bye-bye to Mommy's friend."

"Byeee, Mommy's friend."

"Goodbye, ma'am. Bye, Kailee."

I set the phone down. I don't think I'll be sitting through this meeting today. I'm exhausted, and I want to see how Sasha is doing.

It's getting dark and the streets have begun to clear out when I find them on the library stairs outside. Terri has her arm around her. I join them. Sasha throws herself into my arms. "Thank you, Levi. I'm so sorry you had to do that. You hate me. I know. I hate myself. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve them. Look at me. Look at what a loser I am."

Terri rubs circles on Sasha's back and I just hold her.

It's true. Bipolar Disorder is the fucking devil.

***

By the start of May, I've produced nothing. A dozen unfinished paintings lay in a pile in the corner of my bedroom – nothing of substance. I'm still low, but it's manageable.

With my dead brain betraying me, I finally cave in and google Hayden. Any variation of a google search brings up more than enough information and images of him. And Nicholas Harrington.

The images of Hayden on my phone screen are vastly different from the man I met just over two months ago. It's clear he's the less extroverted of the two, but you can't miss the happiness on his face. Dozens and dozens of paparazzi shots catch him looking at Nicholas at some or other event and the captions—

The captions make my blood boil, but my uncooperative brain manages to dull the implications of my reaction.

You've never seen true love until you've seen #HaydenandNicholas

It's the way Hayden Ashford looks at Nicholas for me.

And then I find a video. Hayden stands behind Nicholas, halfway out of the shot. The reporter says, "What's the one thing you can't live without?" The camera zooms in on Hayden's face and—

My lungs stop working and my brain comes alive. My heart throbs faster than it ever has before and my blood sings.

Hayden lifts his mouth and smiles, his eyes dancing for the camera. It's dazzling. His face radiates an untouchable joy. Then, he drops his eyes to his lover and says, "Nicholas."

Nicholas is the one thing he can't live without.

The eight second clip was posted online just over two years ago. I watch it maybe a hundred times.

When I pick my head up again, two hours have passed. My search for the rest of the video led me to a dozen Instagram posts, a dozen more Facebook posts – which led me to websites that took forever to load, and, finally, I got lost on TikTok. So many videos of them, posted by influencers, but not one with an extended version of the video in question. I go back to the eight second clip pausing the video just when Hayden said, "Nicholas", and take a screenshot.

When I pull Gallery 180's car into the entrance of Hayden's home in the second week of May, I"d lived Hayden's life with Nicholas a billion times over. I've memorized every line he ever spoke.

And every line Hayden ever spoke was about Nicholas.

I'm very proud of him and He's everything to me and I can't wait for us to be married. I couldn't stand it, and I wish I could say I felt any kind of guilt knowing that Nicholas is dead.

Hayden is camera shy most times. But every single time, he seemed to find a reason to smile down at Nicholas. Sometimes the camera caught him gazing at Nicholas while Nicholas talked. I hated it. Hated how Nicholas brought so many smiles to Hayden's beautiful face. Now, Hayden looks like me – lost and cold and empty and alone.

I hope he likes the painting I've done.

Evaline lets me in. "It's good to see you, Levi. How are you?"

"I'm fine," I tell her.

She watches me carefully, so I shift from one foot to another, waiting for her to finish her inspection. She smiles eventually and says, "You can wait for Hayden in his office. He'll join you shortly."

Shortly turns out to be fifteen minutes. I don't risk looking around because I might get caught again. Instead, I sit in my chair, tapping my foot anxiously.

My lips are chapped enough for me to pick at it easily, but I get in too deep and eventually break the skin. Pressing back the skin where I've exposed the flesh too much and caused myself to bleed, I place my hands underneath my thighs, and then, use my front teeth to pull at the skin on my lips.

The door opens with a soft click. I stand up and spin around, my impatience to look at Hayden's face made obvious, embarrassingly so.

He's wearing work clothes—slacks, a buttoned shirt with the sleeves halfway up his forearms. I think there are dark marks underneath his eyes. I hadn't noticed too much of his tiredness the times I've seen him before. It is another reminder of who Hayden Ashford was before his beloved Nicholas died – he didn't have these dark marks underneath his eyes in any of the images or footage I've seen.

I study him now, aware that I'm staring but unable to care enough to draw my gaze away from him.

His eyes no longer have the spark from before Nicholas. I already knew about the deadness in his eyes the first time I looked at him at the gallery, but now, knowing what he looked like before his light was taken from him, there's a deeper sense of sadness that settles inside me. But not just sadness. Jealousy too.

I wish there was someone in this world who would look at me the way Hayden looked at Nicholas. Whose eyes lit up the way Hayden"s did. I wish I could be loved one day. Or wanted. Or fucking chosen like that.

He's looking at me now. What would it feel like to have him soften his eyes from this curious, guarded stare to an adoring gaze?

I meant to say, I have your painting. Instead, what comes out of my mouth is, "It's good to see you, Hayden."